One Small Step
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: On July 20, 1969, it was stated that one small step on the moon was a giant leap for mankind. 35 years later, those words could be said again.


**One Small Step**

"Canaveral, this is Crichton. Farscape has landed."

Jack Crichton knew that in 1.3 seconds, IASA mission control would receive his transmission. As such, in 2.6 seconds, he could expect a reply.

"Roger that Farscape-Two. Happy hunting."

Hunting. That was what he was doing now. Hunting. He was on the moon, _hunting_. He didn't know if that could be considered a sign of how things were different now that humanity had made first contact, or a sign that the more things changed, the more things stayed the same.

"Ready to go?"

Well, some things changed, he reflected. For starters, none of the previous moon landings ever had a reporter onboard.

"Sir?"

"Please, not Sir. Just Jack."

"Right." The man hesitated. "Um, if we're ready…"

"Get your helmet on," he said. "And wait for my clear."

"Yes Sir." Jack glanced back at him as the reporter put his helmet on. "I mean, yes, Jack."

Sighing, Jack Crichton put on his helmet and began the de-pressurization sequence. When the canopy of the lander opened, it would be in vacuum. For the first time in over thirty years, he'd be walking on the moon again. For the first time in over…actually, that was where the similarities with his last moonwalk ended. Waiting for the de-pressurization to end, it gave him plenty of time to think.

Things were different. Thirty years ago, he'd been contacting Houston, Texas, not Canaveral, Florida. Thirty years ago, he'd been with NASA, not IASA. Thirty years ago, he'd been operating a lunar module, not what was currently the most advanced space-craft possessed by humanity.

**De-pressurization complete, **droned the ship's onboard computer.

In truth, "Farscape-2" was a misnomer, in as much that it possessed no similarities with its predecessor. Advanced, sure, and part of the continuing Farscape Program, but structurally it resembled a more conventional shuttle. Smaller, but still based on the principle of "rockets take you into space, rockets let you land vertically on the moon, rockets let you take off from the moon, a parachute lets you land on Earth." Any notion of using John's slingshot theory was being held off for now. Because if he got what he…well, what the _world _wanted, time would have to be taken to see if that method of propulsion was actually needed at all.

**Hatch opening.**

And so it did, revealing the airless vacuum. The empty sky, punctuated by only the sight of Earth. The ladder, leading down to the barren soil.

"Wow," the reporter breathed."

Jack winced. "Wow." Another sign of how times had changed. It sure as hell wasn't "one small step for man," or "I can see Earth, it's so beautiful." Just "wow." He hoped that by the time humanity reached Mars IASA had prepared a list of possible quotations to be used for its landing. But this _was _the new time of human space exploration, and as such, he headed for the ladder. Much longer than the one on the lunar module, but the same principle.

"If, it's alright," the reporter said. "If I can get you from above as you climb down?"

"Sure," Jack murmured. "It's your show."

Actually, it was more IASA's. IASA wanted the technology John had left on the moon when he'd last been here. The secretary general wanted a chance to show that this was a new age of human endeavour and unity. An age where Man could prepare a spaceflight to the moon in the space of a few months. Every news group in the world wanted in on the action, having realized that spaceflight and aliens sold papers and gained ratings. So in the spirit of such journalistic integrity, IASA had decided that they'd put Jack Crichton into space again. Father reaching out for the son. Full circle. And that James Moorcroft of the Australian Broadcasting Corporation would tag along for the ride. A bit of IASA's Sydney branch giving its Canaveral branch a "good luck, have fun, we'll be laughing at you from Parkes Observatory" present.

"That's great Jack," he heard James say over the radio. "Keep going."

Jack grit his teeth as he kept heading down the ladder. James wasn't too bad he supposed – he hadn't complained once during the physicals, and he'd absorbed everything Jack had told him about the basics of spaceflight like a sponge. No, it was what James represented that bothered him – the newshounds who even now were hounding his family, gossiping on everything from John's baby to whether this was all part of a conspiracy that the Crichtons had begun back in the 1970s.

_Touchdown._

Jack looked around the moon. Dark, dull, lifeless. Just as he'd left it. No stars in the sky bar the flag he'd planted. Still a silence.

"Great," he heard James said. "Great, Jack." He poked his head out of the lander. "If…if you can just move a bit to the right sir."

Jack did so.

"Great. I mean, wow. Earth. It's…it's so…"

Jack moved to the left again. Last time he was here he had a mission timetable of two hours. Enough time to pick up moon rocks, play golf, and drive a buggy. IASA had doubled that. After he got the recorder John had left, he was to spend the time doing whatever Mister Moorcroft wanted him to.

"Just…coming down now Sir…"

He ignored him and walked over to the flag, or rather, the photo attached to it. Taken over thirty years ago. Olivia, Susan, Leslie, John…

_John…_

Jack put a hand to his mouth, only for the helmet to get in the way.

_Leslie…_

"Um, Farscape-Two, this is Canaveral," came a voice. "You alright Jack?"

Leslie was dead. Long dead.

"Jack?"

John was gone. Not so long gone. But-

"Commander Crichton?!"

"Um, fine, Canaveral," he lied, feeling his mouth wavering. "I…I'm fine."

"Oh, okay," came the voice. "We just detected an elevated heart rate. Seems to be fine now."

"Right."

"Everything else okay?"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

"I said yes."

There was a delay between each transmission in reality, but Jack barely noticed. Reality…reality had changed so much for him over the past few years. He looked around, away from the flag. Towards the patch of flattened soil that one of Moya's transport pods had made. Expecting to see it there still. Expecting to see John again. Expecting…expecting…

"Found it!"

He closed his eyes. In his mind, he could still see John. Leslie. D.K. Laura. Everyone…everyone who was just _gone_.

And then he felt something be put in his hand. Could see the tape recorder that James had put there. Could see the man grinning like an idiot.

"Rosetta Stone, eh?" he said. He raised his camera. "If you could just, hold it up, Sir. Moment of discovery and all that."

Jack obliged. James was right about one thing he supposed – this _was _the Rosetta Stone, providing that his son was telling the truth when they'd last spoke (_spoken for the last time_). For IASA, it would hold technology and navigation information. For him, it would hopefully hold his son's voice. His last words. The last words he would ever hear…

"Now, Sir, if you could start walking," the reporter began.

"Where?" Jack asked, trying to steady his breathing, to avoid another call from mission control. "Walk where?"

"Oh, anywhere," the reporter said. "I mean, I'll get your footprints as you make them. Big steps for Man and all that. And y'know, how they'll never fade."

Jack glanced over at the impression the transport pod had made. Had there been footprints under there, he wondered? They were everywhere else, mostly from his last trip to Serenity Base, some of them from John too he thought, and-

And he knelt down, looking into the dust. And smiled – different footprints. John had made them. They were smaller, and went straight from the pod's landing site to the flag and back.

"Sir? About those footprints?"

And the smile remained. Because James was right. Big steps. That was what he had to focus on. Small steps for a big future. And if that meant making more of them to make that future occur, even if for now he'd just be walking around aimlessly…he could make them.

So nodding, he began walking. Wondering. Hoping.

That the small steps would continue.

That the walk would never end.

* * *

_A/N_

_This was written more or less in the aftermath of me having gone through the four seasons of _Farscape _and _Peacekeeper Wars_. It's a kinda sappy thing I've pulled off a few times _(e.g. Make a Wish _in regards to finishing _The Wind Waker_). So, um, yeah. Go figure._


End file.
